


performance & cocktails

by ragnasok



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Sakaar (Marvel), The Grandmaster Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 16:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12891708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragnasok/pseuds/ragnasok
Summary: The Grandmaster finds another use for Thor and Loki, and there's no fighting their way out of this one.





	performance & cocktails

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by something a nonnie posted on FFA a few weeks back, but I can't find the thread now. Anyway, I think it's pretty self-explanatory.

“I hate you,” Loki’s voice informed him calmly. 

Thor blinked in surprise and—carefully, because that infernal disk was still firmly embedded in his neck—glanced around the chamber to which he’d been brought. Not that the sentiment itself was a surprise: if he’d heard it once, he’d heard it a thousand times. But from what he’d seen, Loki was doing pretty well for himself here. Strolling along beside the Grandmaster (and seriously, what kind of a being called himself that?) as though they were old friends; living the high life with whatever sort of aristocracy existed on this junkheap of a planet. Thor had been the one dragged around, poked and prodded like a bull at market. The resentment hardly seemed called for.

Except that then, blinking across the blue-gold blur of the room, he saw something he hadn’t been expecting.

Loki still stood at the Grandmaster’s side, but the air of ease he’d worn earlier was gone, shed along with his clothes. He wore only a collar, studded with blue gems to match the Grandmaster’s ubiquitous colour scheme—and an obedience disk to match Thor’s own. Judging by his pinched expression and the tight line of his shoulders, he’d felt its sting recently. The Grandmaster’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder, as though he was a pet not yet quite off the leash.

Trapped, his brother was something far less civilised than that; but right now it gave Thor scant comfort to think that the Grandmaster didn’t know it. From what he’d seen of Sakaar—the palace’s fortifications, its legions of guards and sycophants and scavengers out to make a quick buck—it would take more than anger to get either of them out.

And in the meantime? Whatever was happening here, it threatened worse than a fair fight against some unknown champion.

A movement at Thor’s elbow made him start. A hand touched his arm, and he jerked in his restraints violently enough to throw it off, but the attendant standing at his elbow had already pressed something onto his skin. A sticker, he realised, squinting—or, no, a patch like the ones people on Midgard used when they were trying to give up cigarettes.

He glared back at the Grandmaster, mustering some defiance. “What have you done to me? The haircut was bad enough, but—”

The Grandmaster chuckled, as though Thor was an infant throwing an amusing tantrum. “Oh, relax. We’re all friends here.” He patted Loki’s bare shoulder, and Thor could hardly miss the way his brother went tight as a bowstring beneath the touch. “Why don’t you show him?”

Loki was silent. _Friends? No. No, we’re not that_. Thor’s mind filled in the blank where the barbed comment should have been, and then suggested that its absence was the most worrying thing he’d encountered since he materialized atop that trashheap. 

“Show me what? Loki, what is this?” he asked. Or started to ask, but was distracted by the flush of heat making its way up the back of his neck, the sweat beading underneath his armour. It prickled over the surface of his skin, making him wish he could shrug out of his clothes—but it was in him, too, filtering through his veins, stronger than liquor.

The patch. As though the obedience disk hadn’t been enough. What more could the Grandmaster want with him?

The answer suggested itself sooner than he would’ve liked. 

He saw the Grandmaster give Loki a nudge, lean forward to whisper something he couldn’t hear, and finally—eyes burning with icy rage—Loki took a step toward him. 

The Grandmaster gave his arse a pat as he went, and Loki’s eyes went wide with outrage. Under other circumstances, the look on his face might even have been funny.

But not now, as every step Loki took toward him bespoke reluctance, as the crowd of hangers-on lining the room murmured and tittered, as the drug did its work. Thor could feel his heartbeat in his throat, now, and his cock began to stir in his pants despite everything, his skin awash with heat. 

He opened his mouth to demand again that someone tell him what was going on, but Loki caught his eye and gave a minute shake of his head, one hand twitching briefly upward toward the obedience disk before it fell back to his side.

Thor got the idea and subsided. Anyway, it was all too obvious now where this was headed. He swallowed hard, a pang of nausea reaching him from somewhere beneath the fog in his head and the insistent, unwelcome tug of arousal. 

He had to get out of here. They had to get out of here.

He’d given up on trying to get out of the chair, but now he redoubled his efforts, straining against his restraints until he felt he might tear himself apart with the effort. 

Across the room, the Grandmaster actually pouted. “Must you?” he sighed, sounding so genuinely offended that for a moment, Thor felt like a guest who’d shown up at a great feast and pissed in the wine. “We’re all here to have fun. _Aren’t_ we all here to have fun?”

Thor opened his mouth to reply that most sane beings in the galaxy had a very different idea of ‘fun’, but before he could get a word out, the Grandmaster gave a sigh and waved a lazy hand at his assistant. 

Thor was braced for the shock this time, but it didn’t come. Instead, Loki stumbled where he stood—just a pace away, now—knees hitting the floor, curling in on himself as black pulsed through the veins of his neck, painfully visible beneath the pale skin. His hands clawed uselessly at the air, but no green fire unfurled from his fingertips, and it did not stop.

Thor ceased his struggling. 

The buzzing went silent and Loki went still. For a second Thor thought—hoped, maybe—that he’d lost consciousness. That, at least, would have to put a stop to this sick game. Wouldn’t it?

Loki didn’t move right away, and maybe he was considering playing dead. Then he uncurled and pushed himself up onto his knees with shaky movements. Obviously, he’d concluded that it wouldn’t help. 

He lifted his chin, his eyes meeting Thor’s. “I hate you,” he said, again, not so calm this time. There was cold, barely-suppressed rage in his voice and his eyes, and anyone more than two paces away probably wouldn’t have noticed that he was trembling. 

Loki had spent three weeks with the Grandmaster: that was what he’d said. Perhaps he knew how much worse things could get. (Perhaps he’d seen this before, been among the gathered spectators? Thor shook the thought away for now. Not helping.)

Not that much was helping. He was still trapped; the drug was still thrumming through his veins, the slow build of arousal still made its way down his body; and had it been somebody other than his brother kneeling before him, perhaps he would have been grateful for the promise of release.

 _Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, anyway_ , whispered a small, treacherous voice in the back of his mind, and Thor grimaced and shut it down. That was the drug talking. It had to be.

He leaned forward as best he could, which wasn’t much—as though there was any chance of privacy in this place, anyway. “What do we do?” he whispered, or tried to, the hoarse scratch of his voice surprising him. “How do we get out of here?”

Loki returned his gaze with something that bordered on mockery. “We don’t,” he said, and moved closer, and reached up to unfasten Thor’s pants.

Thor almost missed the half-second where he looked away, the hesitant flutter of his lashes. He wondered if he’d imagined it, and then forgot to wonder anything at all, because then his pants were open and Loki’s hand was on his cock, too cold in the warm room. Despite the drug, he was still only at half-mast, and he almost had time to be glad of it.

There was a faint titter somewhere in the room, and the Grandmaster’s voice saying, “Oh dear. He’s, ah, he’s really determined not to have any fun, isn’t he? Such a pity.”

Nobody replied; but then maybe he wasn’t expecting an answer. He seemed like the kind of being who mostly preferred the sound of his own voice.

“But not to worry,” he went on, brightly. “We can soon fix that.”

This time, Thor was expecting the hand on his arm, another of those thrice-damned patches pressed onto the skin. The touch lingered a moment this time, fingers stroking over the muscles of his arm. He grimaced, not sure what further torment might await if he shrugged off the unwanted caress.

And then it didn’t matter anyway. The drug worked fast—a stronger dose this time, it had to be—and heat flooded through him. Each nerve-ending sparked with need; his armour an unbearable encumbrance against oversensitive skin. Without his permission, his cock began to harden in Loki’s grasp, swelling a little more with each stroke. 

He did not want this. He could not want this. And need overtook him all the same, turning what should have been disgust to sweet relief.

He screwed his eyes shut, turning his head away. If he pictured something else—something disgusting—or some scene from their boyhood—perhaps he could stop this, still.

“The harder you fight,” Loki hissed, quiet enough for only him to hear, “the longer this lasts. _For both of us_.” He punctuated his words with a quick twist of his wrist, thumb swirling around the head of Thor’s cock. The sensation made him gasp, hips giving an involuntary jerk, and there was fluid beading at the tip already, his body refusing to recognise his mind’s scruples. Anticipation crept over his skin, slithered down his spine, and he couldn’t push it away, not completely.

Maybe it was the shame that defeated him; or maybe it was that he knew that viciousness in his brother’s voice, knew the ragged, desperate place it came from, and knew he’d never been able to assuage it. He could do nothing about it now, helpless as he was. Maybe just waiting for this to be over was the only choice they had.

Thor looked away in defeat, and a second later there was warm, wet heat wrapped around his cock.

The drug had done its work well, because for a long moment all he felt was relief. 

Loki knew what he was doing, taking Thor in deep enough that he ought to have choked, rolling his tongue around the length in a gesture that might have been a tease, had it been less frantic. Even so, Thor found himself clutching white-knuckled at the arms of his chair, fighting shudders of pleasure.

Maybe if he just kept his eyes closed and thought of somebody else, this would be over fast. That would be best. But he wouldn’t sully the thought of Jane with this, however things had ended between then—and the faces of other, more fleeting lovers refused to fix themselves before his mind’s eye. And, as though the Grandmaster had read his mind:

“I just—oh, I’m disappointed in you two.” At that, Loki stilled in what he was doing, and despite himself, Thor had to bite back a groan of frustration. “You look like you don’t even want to be here. Is that any way to treat your host?” There was a murmur of general assent from the Grandmaster’s side of the room, and at the same time, Loki’s hand found his thigh, giving a squeeze of warning.

Thor opened his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look down, so instead he glared across at the Grandmaster, promising murder as best he could without opening his mouth. 

Apparently that was enough for whatever peculiar brand of sadism this was, because the Grandmaster clapped his hands together, pleased.

“There, see? Aren’t you glad you joined us?”

The question didn’t seem to require an answer, thankfully—thankfully, because Loki resumed his task, then, swallowing him down to the root once more, and between the heat of his mouth and that of the drug working its way through his veins, Thor couldn’t have formed words had he wanted to.

Loki took his time, now, heeding the Grandmaster’s implicit warning. He swallowed Thor down deep, then pulled off almost completely, licking catlike at the head of his cock. Putting on a show. 

The Grandmaster gave a pleased little smile and settled back in his chair, taking a sip from the bright-blue drink an attendant handed him. 

There were so many eyes on them. Surely the shame of it would swallow them both whole.

It didn’t, and it didn’t end. Pleasure took hold of him once more, wrung him out and left him shuddering, hips bucking up helplessly, driving his cock into his brother’s mouth. Somewhere through the heat and the haze he heard Loki make a choked-off sound and knew he would remember it later, when guilt had time to find him. But for now, release grew close, and he had to fight not to close his eyes once more in gratitude as his thrusts grew shaky and he felt it ready to break over him.

“Oh no, no. That won’t do at all.” The Grandmaster’s voice cut through his daze. Thor heard a muffled sound of frustration, and then realised it had been him. “Don’t forget your audience. Sharing, I’m all about sharing, you know.”

Abruptly, the wet heat was gone. Thor had no time to protest, though, or to remember that he shouldn’t be protesting, because then Loki’s hands were on him, stroking him firm and sure, and a moment later his orgasm tore itself out of him with a force that pulled the breath from his lungs.

It took him a moment to come back to himself. When he did, he couldn’t help but look down.

His spend dripped down Loki’s face, from his lashes and his reddened lips. Loki’s breath came hard, shuddering a little on each exhale. He looked wrecked. Used.

Thor thought he would have welcomed another _I hate you_ , but Loki’s earlier anger seemed dissipated, now. Only blank distance remained in his eyes, and a tight knot of horror twisted itself up in Thor’s gut.

“Loki—” he started to say, voice breaking.

“Don’t.” It brooked no argument, and Thor fell silent. What would he say, anyway? _I’m sorry_ hardly began to cover it, and right now, _I’ll kill him_ seemed an impossible promise. He closed his eyes once more, this time in defeat.

Across the room, somebody started to clap.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ragnasok.tumblr.com)


End file.
